SURPRISE I found the devil in a piece of cheesecake. He was staring at me, So I chewed off his head And got him up between My back molars – Which was just what he wanted. I slurped on his eyeballs And he went down – smooth – Like lemon custard. He's in my belly now. He lives there, I guess. Sometimes I feel him Moving around down there – Painting the ceiling, Tacking posters to the walls. You can imagine my surprise, then, When I saw him just today, Peering out from behind A stack of pink-iced cupcakes.
STRINGS I always liked my hands, And so I cut them off. Things are easier now, Because my pretty hands don't sadden me. The strings around my wrists have slipped off, And I am free.
THERE YOU GO AGAIN I'd like to kill you, Hater of Myself – Stupid sugar on your tongue. Why do you rely on the admiration of others? Why don't you ride horses anymore? You are a fraud. You can't be mean if you're ugly. So you are the most inexcusable Thing in the World – a Fat Anorexic, Warp-faced Bitch. And you – don't try to Protest, I know you too well – Are a Hypocrite. Because there you go -- Thinking about the World again.
"OH, PANDORA, I'M GETTING CRAZY AGAIN" I can feel it welling up in me like Slush coming up a straw – The Jumpies, the Round Room Syndrome. They call me weird when I'm like that. But I'm so much more than weird. I'm a comet. I'm a star hurtling Toward Olympus. And if You believe that, You're just as insane as me.
FADING Snowmen moved in the moonlight. And there were other things That left me dream-scarred, in the afternoon, at night, At dawn: the starlings On my bedposts that sang half-muted songs Before they disappeared. Sleep, not death, is the shade that is drawn. In the dark window my wakeful face is mirrored. with special thanks to Louise Glück
THEY They have been crystal, the translucent throng, skimming the green waters, softer at noon; flying kamikaze, they have thrown their song into a swirl of clouds, June after June: bright creatures, many-eyed, allover wings. Ghosts like that are made of summer moon. They have done these things. They have discovered the tinseled tips of the pines, bent them with rest, starlight, sighs, feathers, concerts, orange rinds; changed the seasons on the hills and in the skies: soaring, riding the wind like kings. Beings like that can coax the sun to rise. They have done these things. They have stretched in your cages, master, curled their tiny bodies into balls, beating against the mystery, faster where they touch against the walls and their lungs fill with air that stifles and stings. Creatures like that should never sleep in stalls. But they have done these things. with special thanks to Anne Sexton
BLACK & WHITE Can you still see me? When my eyes fall on your photograph I can see you. It's the one of us on the jetty, Looking out over the frozen lake. Am I an indian in your dreams? Have my eyes gone hollow? There are times when I am Absolutely filled with you. At night I meet you in Paris -- You didn't know that, did you? You have taken up permanent Residence in my daydreams, But it's getting crowded on that mind-street of mine. Do you think of me when you eat tuna? I can't remember your mouth anymore, But your hands are concrete as ever -- Long fingers and short, square nails. I remember how we laughed, And posed like peacocks, And how your camera -- for a micro-moment -- Cast illumination on the snow-dusted ice.
LEVELS OF CONTENT It all moves like light now. There is a glint of dawn behind the saucer moon Of a dark hour, that must be sharper Where it meets the sky, Where not every star casts a shadow to crouch in. It gets narrower and narrower: Shallow and deep, abysmal and deep; how else can we sink? Flashes that keep us from seeing too far. But there was that pool of ice water That killed one quickly: helped one to slip down Out of here, preferably To arrive on a splendidly lighted sliver of heaven Higher than one's neighbors. And everything would taste sweet and sour again. Suddenly, a tug, a firm one. Creatures in twos and threes cling on, and There's terror in their grip. But for all of you Fate Has overlooked, passed by, Left to squint at the old sun, Not swiftly lifted to a star cold and sparkling, I suggest sleep, a dream quiet like miles of yellow lawn. Please do not wake. with special thanks to John Ashbery
LOOKOUT POINT In the omen-blue sky And star-spread Air of night, On a high Hill with a view, I said, "It isn't quite A tragedy." And you, Your eyes reflecting moon, Replied, "It's getting late." And it was true. The sun was gone, and soon The pretty hate That filled my eyes Would hide behind the dark. And so my voice Was touched with ice When I asked, "Where'd you park?" I didn't have much choice -- My arms were cold -- so I Followed where you led Me toward the light, In the omen-blue sky And star-spread Air of night.
ENVELOPE LAND The kind of pain as Smooth and white As paper -- Uncompromising, vast, and Glaring. Distraction -- A light behind a Ceiling fan, The unsteady type that Rocks as it Cools; Back and forth -- Its switchcord Swinging Relentlessly. And I can't find It there -- That something That I'm looking for To replace the Sour granules of Sugar Lying on my tongue.
EVE There's finally black On the bottoms of my feet -- And my shoulders show. The snake is slow And I refuse to fall. I touch his back -- Relax into the heat -- And smile because I know. I watch his shadow Kiss my profile on the wall.
THE TOWER Like a flagpole he was, tall icy stick of metal ignoring sleet storms and moving forms. Like a Drake, a masculine Bernadette, a doorstop left in a box, he was. Have you been him. Have you lived him, friend. Did armies of you press down on the unsuspecting town. with special thanks to Robert Creeley
IN THE ABSENCE When I fall into the familiar of my bed, curl inside the body-warmed percale and cheek-brushing darkness alone and turn out the world I squirm shoulder to shoulder from thought. Darling, the frightened girl who loves you turns over in me and I cry a century. There's no more night and day. Awake, I walk past you like voiceless Echo, without a sound, without. with special thanks to Linda Hogan
THE TRUTH IS I have my own secret. Do you know? You can't possibly, Because I keep it well. Steal through me and You might guess it – You might see it in one corner Of my right lung, Or taste it on my skin. Perhaps my heart Will show it to you – Wrapped in red, warm like cooked tomato. I have my secret, And I don't need you. I don't need your hand on my hair, I don't need your breath on my neck. I lean on my secret, I hold it in my cupped hands In place of your face. I kiss it tenderly.
ANGEL Lift me out of the world. Lift my stomach up out of my mouth, Lift my bones inside my skin. Lift me so the tip of my chin Is higher than the crown Of my head. Lift my shoulders With your wings – Lift my eyes up to gaze at you – Bright angel, glowing With my spirit. I can't fight your blue halo, Your radiant, scarred hands – And I don't want to. Hold me like this forever in your extended arms, Locked in the embrace that was once mine -- Limp doll who adores you – you have sucked me dry.